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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years ago

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hi hi! i'd love for a kiss in the rain, preferably of icchi and rentaro from rider time shinobi (although philip and shoutaro work too). your works are amazing!

Are you the same anon who's sent me Shinobi prompts previously? I love that I get those sometimes, I love Shinobi, and it's so sweet that other people love it enough to want fic for it.

The best thing about working together, Icchi thinks, is that when it's just the two of them Rentaro's stopped pretending that he sucks at being a ninja.

Right now they're supposed to be training. Even the world's greatest ninjas have to keep up an exercise regimen, and the weather's good, so they're out in the forest, and Rentaro is bouncing through the canopy like he's flying. A lot of the time, of course, it's really just fast leaps, but occasionally he'll spring off a branch or rebound off the trunk of a tree and the world will stop for a moment, everything slowing as he floats down to his next target. He always grins when he does those big floating jumps, too. Icchi wants to resent him for being so good at this, but it's impossible, because he's...he's too cute.

Not that Icchi's just standing there thinking about how cute his best friend is. They're supposed to be racing.

He's not quite as good at leaping as Rentaro, but he's keeping pace, bouncing from tree to tree with the wind in his hair. A good rebound and he's ahead, a brief slip and he's behind again, Rentaro wastes a breath on a long-slow-floaty drop and Icchi outpaces him by several meters and grabs a scrap of fabric off a twig, stuffing it into a pocket even as he tenses to jump again. Master Gamano was out early this morning in a rare foray into the physical world, hanging these scraps from branches and hiding them in knotholes, giving the two of them something to compete over.

An hour paces in delighted racing, and then Rentaro takes one last floating leap and lands on one of the thickest branches of an especially large tree, light as a petal. Icchi lands next to him a moment later and says, breathless, "I think you win."

"What? No." Rentaro wipes sweat out of his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. "You were doing so well, I'm just fast, I'm pretty sure you got more markers than I did." He starts digging fabric scraps out of his pockets and sleeves. "I only got, uh, one, two, three..."

Icchi starts producing and counting his own collection of scraps, which makes Rentaro lose count and have to start over, which makes him lose count, and that throws Rentaro off again, and--

They've very nearly got it figured out when there's a crack of thunder and the sky splits open, the rain beginning so abruptly that Icchi almost thinks there's a jutsu involved. High up in the trees as they are, they're drenched almost immediately, startled and swearing as they tuck all their scraps away again, "I think you won."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was you? Race you back to the house."

"Why race? You'll just beat me again."

"Come on, Icchi, it'll be fun, even with all this rain I bet we could--"

The kiss is supposed to be, you know, it's a tactic. A technique, even. It's supposed to be distracting, and, well, Rentaro is definitely distracted, but it's in this way where his hands come up to grab the front of Icchi's shirt and Icchi's tongue is sort of in his mouth and he makes this little noise in the back of his throat that makes Icchi kind of mad that they're doing this outside in the rain and not somewhere indoors, private, and dry. So it's, the distraction is working!

It's also working on Icchi. He's distracted. He kisses Rentaro again.

It rains harder.

Kiss number three.

Lightning hits a tree right next to them and they spring apart, fully soaked now, and Icchi manages to collect himself just quickly enough to say, "So we're racing back, right?" and spring off the branch into the trees again.

"Hey, wait, what was--" Rentaro leaps after him. "Wait, slow down, what was that for?"

#kagura rentaro #konjo isamichi #fanfiction #anonamouse

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lalcne-blog · 6 years ago

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index: rentaro akiyama

bloodied fists. black eyes. embers catching fire. loud voices. isolation. blood, sweat, and tears. facing forward. midnight walks. battle scars at twenty-two. folktales. smoke.

HIS FOOTSTEPS ARE quick and light across the wooden floor, his feet no longer tripping over his single tail like they were when he was learning how to walk. all he hears is the thumping of his heart and the slicing of his blade against the practice dummy. its shirt has already been ruined enough that it’s fallen to the floor in pieces, red stains from the fake blood packs inside all over its makeshift chest. his sword is coated in red.

the door to the garage-turned-training-room opens, but he doesn’t stop until he hears, ❝ rentaro, stop for now. eat. we’ll work without weapons after. ❞

he sets his sword down and follows his father into the house.

school is a waste of time, but not to his father, and so he catches the bus to primary school with the rest of the kids on his street, refusing to talk to any of them unless they’ve annoyed him to the point of snapping.

why can’t he just study at home ?? that way, he can use his ❛ recess ❜ and ❛ lunch ❜ breaks for training. that’s all he cares about, really. his father wants him to be the strongest, and while to him that means the strength of the mind as well as the body, rentaro himself cares little for academic pursuits. sitting in class and listening to a teacher drone on and on and on only makes him antsy.

then there are his classmates. the ones he gets into fights with on a constant basis, whether it be verbally or physically. he wins each and every fight, even without his powers ( ❝ but why can’t i tell anyone i’m a kitsune ?? ❞ ), but that always means being sent to the principal’s office while his father ( ❝ because no one will believe you, son ❞ ) is being called. this always ends with him being brought home for some extra training that has him bruised and bleeding, and he always blames the classmate who pissed him off.

the incidents don’t end there. the school sends child protective services to their door and his father is the politest and most accommodating he’s ever been until the workers say their goodbyes and the door is shut and bottled wrath is unleashed on him. he’s told to wear his uniform’s long-sleeved shirt to school the next day to cover the vast amount of training wounds, earning him a few concerned looks and questions from teachers.

when he repeats these questions to his father, it’s once again time for some extra training.

it’s rare that one of the fools in his class has a point, but when one of those eight year old bastards comes up to him one day with no fear apparent on his face and asks a question he doesn’t have an answer to, he doesn’t know what to say.

❝ hey, the teachers keep mentioning your dad, but never your mum. where is she ?? ❞

rentaro hates not knowing the answer to questions ( and his father hates it when he doesn’t know things, too, so he has to ensure he knows everything he possibly can ), and of course, this comes out in the form of rising anger. he stands so quickly that his chair flies out from behind him and falls to the ground, the sound echoing around the classroom. everyone nearby falls silent.

❝ that’s none of your fucking business !! ❞ he growls, making a point of pushing past him on his way out.

he doesn’t leave school via the main entrance, instead opting for the back gate that leads to a small forest with a creek on the other side. most people aren’t game enough to navigate their way through the twisted roots and drooping branches that all look the same once you’ve been walking for more than twenty minutes, but he isn’t most people, and so he disappears into the brush without a second thought.

once the school is out of sight, he transforms into his fox form, still a dull orange compared to his father’s majestic gold. his father is the person he looks up to most in terms of strength and honour. he thinks that, if he were to become a parent himself some day, he would do things a bit differently, but he doesn’t think his father is wrong. the training and strict guidelines are a result of his father wanting him to be the best, and he can’t possibly hate him for that.

but what of his mother ?? he knows enough about basic biology ( and snarky jokes that eight year olds have no business cracking ), both human and kitsune, to know that he must have a mother, unless he was somehow conjured out of thin air. something tells him that isn’t the case.

it’s around sunset when he finally returns home, and his father greets him with a stern expression as he walks through the door. he knows what’s coming before his father even opens his mouth, that the school must have called after he disappeared from campus, and he lets it happen.

❝ and where the fuck have you bee, rentaro ?? what did i tell you about ditching school ?? ❞

rentaro’s usual response would be an apology and a hollow promise that it won’t happen again despite both of them knowing it will, and then he would be sent to prepare for extra training. this time, he stops and stares. he searches his father’s face for the answer he’s been looking for all afternoon, but of course, finds nothing.

❝ well ?? ❞ his father’s voice is impatient, louder, a warning for anyone listening.

and yet, rentaro doesn’t heed it.

❝ where’s mum ?? ❞

he watches his father’s eyes, the way they flicker with several different emotions so quickly that he can’t pinpoint them, before he’s pushed against the door with a much stronger arm beneath his chin.

❝ you don’t have one, ❞ his father says, dangerously low. ❝ some kids just don’t have mothers. don’t ask anymore stupid questions. ❞

the arm moves and he can breathe again, his hands massaging his sore throat as he gasps for air. he watches his father stalk upstairs and hears the slamming of a door seconds later.

he never brings it up again.

the moment he’s told he’s been expelled, he sprints to the forest, his safeguard from both the school and his house. he’s careless in transforming, barely ensuring he’s concealed from prying eyes before switching to his animal form. he heads further and further into the forest without a single care for where he’s going. he only needs it to be away. from what ??

everything.

he stops only when the creek blocks his way, and he drops to the ground in exhaustion, catching his breath. he knows he shouldn’t be right by the water’s edge. visitors to this area of the creek are few and far between, but they do appear now and then, and they’re either curious children or annoying farmers, the latter of which won’t hesitate to shoot him if they think he’s a threat to their crops. he can’t bring himself to care about that right now.

of course, this is exactly when someone arrives.

he’s up and alert, ready to dive back into the bushes when he hears the hoarse cry of, ❝ please !! i don’t want to hurt you. ❞

the voice belongs to a ragged, middle-aged woman with twigs in her hair and mud on her clothes. he continues to back away from her as she approaches with her hand outstretched, but he doesn’t leave, mostly because he doesn’t have the energy to, but also because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. when she sees that he isn’t fleeing, at least not immediately, the woman smiles and continues to approach. she doesn’t seem like a threat, but that could change.

❝ i don’t want to hurt you, ❞ she repeats, and instead of patting him like he thought she would, she sits by the creek, a metre or so away. ❝ i’m just looking for someone. perhaps you can help me. i know foxes are smarter than people give them credit for. ❞

well, she’s right about that. he doesn’t move closer, but sits down as well, a silent offer of peace. for now.

❝ i’ve been told that what i’m doing is a suicide mission, ❞ the woman says, and he listens, because her problems are a distraction from his own. ❝ i might not come back alive, but it’s worth it. ❞

she tilts her head to gaze at the afternoon sky, and he finds himself doing the same.

he visits the woman many times after that.

he doesn’t know where she lives or what she’s looking for, but now that he’s being home-schooled, he has more time to see her, even with all the extra training he’s had to do. he spends most of his free time out in the woods now.

when he does happen to meet her, it’s usually by the creek, and she always greets him with a smile and, later, open arms. he isn’t used to affection, but he soon learns just how amazing it can be, and if he can’t get it as a human, he’ll get it as a fox.

( what would this woman say if she knew the truth ?? he decides not to think about it. )

she talks to him as he snuggles up beside her, offering her his body warmth as the air grows colder. she tells him old folk tales she heard as a child and about her siblings -- one older, one younger -- and the adventures they’d go on growing up. he hears about the home she left behind to chase something that’s so, so important to her, but never about what this important thing is, and sometimes he wishes he had the voice to vocalise it.

it’s always a fleeting wish, though, and he forgets about it within seconds.

he stays with her past his curfew one night, and that’s his first mistake.

but how can anyone blame him ?? she treats him with the softness and kindness that’s been absent from his life until now. it’s something he never thought he needed until she showed him the light in the form of quiet talks and berries picked in anticipation for his arrival. it’s such a foreign yet amazing concept that he can’t stay away.

❝ oh, dear, ❞ she says to him when he leans too much on one of his front paws, the injured left one, and topples over. ❝ are you hurt ?? you shouldn’t overwork yourself. ❞

she has no idea just what she’s asking of him, and not for the first time, he wonders what she would do if she knew. probably nothing. but -- but -- he reminds himself, there isn’t anything that needs to be done. this is just a result of his training, of his father wanting the best for him, to reach his fullest potential. it will heal, just like all the others.

she’s taken his paw in her hand when it begins.

❝ rentaro !! ❞

his father’s voice sends chills down his spine and he freezes. the woman does, too, her grip tightening the slightest bit, just enough to cause a dull ache. the two of them stare in the direction of the trees.

❝ rentaro, where the fuck are you ?! ❞

he springs into action, yanking his paw away from the woman’s grasp and nudging her urgently, gesturing for her to stand. she does, but she doesn’t take her eyes off of him. they’re wide, and her lips are cracked and parted, but he can’t focus on her terror. he needs to get her out of here.

he nudges and nudges, but she doesn’t budge, continuing to stare down at him in what he thought was terror, but now realises is wonder. panic rises in his chest. doesn’t she realise the position she’s in ??

and, just like that, it’s too late. he hears a guttural screech behind him right before being grabbed by the neck and thrown against the nearest tree. his kitsune form breaks and he’s suddenly human again, his senses dulled to that of the young boy he is. his head throbs from the impact and, for the next few seconds, he can only watch.

he watches as his father grabs the woman by the shoulders and shakes her so hard he thinks he’s going to break her neck. she lets out a scream that is quickly silenced by a knee to the stomach, a move rentaro knows well. it’s been used on him many times before.

❝ what are you doing here ?? ❞ his father spits, knuckles white where they remain clamped around the woman’s shoulders.

the woman has tears in her eyes. ❝ he’s my son ?? ...he’s my son. ❞

she doesn’t seem to be talking to his father, or to him, but to herself. it takes a moment for everything to click in his brain, and he feels bile rise to the back of his throat once it does.

❝ m-mum ?? ❞ he asks, tentative.

his father whirls on him, just from the shoulders up, but it’s enough to make him flinch and move back a single step. his legs shake as he clutches the pointed bark of the tree behind him. he can’t move.

that is, until he hears the dangerously loud slap.

❝ NO !! ❞ he screams, barrelling towards his father with his good arm raised. it’s a foolish action, but all he can think about is this woman, of how he can possibly provide the same safety she gave him.

his father is fast, and in the blink of an eye, he’s lying on his back with a heavy metal boot on his stomach, squeezing down so hard he can’t take a deep breath. he coughs as the bile makes a reappearance and he clutches the ground beneath him. his hands become caked in mud.

❝ how dare you hurt him !! ❞ the woman yells, a sound so foreign to him, who has heard nothing but warmth from her. ❝ how dare you -- ❞

she’s silenced with another slap and she yelps. she struggles and so does he, wriggling to get out of his father’s grasp. nothing works, and another harsh press on his torso results in a loud crack and the painful sensation of a broken rib. or two, he isn’t sure. he holds his arm over his stomach as the pain fills him, tears in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he can’t show weakness. not right now.

when his vision unblurs, his father has his hands wrapped around the woman’s neck and his face so close to hers that they’re nose to nose. his voice is low, but rentaro can still hear him.

❝ shut the fuck up, incubator. he’s mine, and i’m free to do whatever the fuck i want with him. you know you shouldn’t have come here, bitch. ❞

at first, rentaro thinks his father is going to choke the woman to death, but then his hands move upwards the slightest bit and twists, another crack echoing between the trees. her head and neck sag at an angle too bent to be normal, her eyes wide open, but not staring at anything.

she’ll never stare at anything again.

he screams as he watches this woman -- his mother -- roll down the embankment and into the creek like a ragdoll.

❝ i’ve been told that what i’m doing is a suicide mission. ❞

he continues to scream as he’s forced to stand up and his good arm is twisted to hell and back as he’s dragged back through the forest.

❝ i might not come back alive, but it’s worth it. ❞

he continues even as he’s pushed towards the place he’s supposed to call home.

he’s shipped off to hyacinth the next day as his father goes into hiding. he hasn’t slept, and the friend of his father’s doesn’t ask what’s wrong as he’s picked up from the station and shown his room. he probably already knows.

his new room has a mirror, but he wishes it didn’t. his black eye is as clear as day, as are the scratch marks adorning his right cheek. they’ll heal, become nothing soon enough, but they are nothing compared to what he feels inside. he can see it in the way his eyes just stare blankly at his reflection. he stares, and stares, and stares, but he can’t see anything worthwhile.

he’s useless.

his mother was killed, and he just watched it happen.

he didn’t do anything.

he needs to be stronger. he needs to be able to not only match his father’s skill, but surpass it. he needs to become the best in order to protect what’s his, though he supposes he only has himself left, and is he really worth saving ??

lucille academy is an eye-opener. he isn’t the only one in class with magical powers anymore, and while it’s a relief to finally show others what he can do out in the open, it proves to him that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t as talented as he once thought he was.

his classmates become used to his angry outbursts and don’t bother giving him space like those at his previous school did. they don’t take his bullshit, and his feelings about that are mixed, two sides at war within him. on one hand, he just wants to be left alone. he’s always been alone, so why should things change now ?? but now he isn’t looked at like some caged animal ready to explode at the drop of a hat, constantly viewed through suspicious lenses, and it makes him less tense.

he proves himself to be powerful. that has never been an issue, from the very first time he was able to show off what he could do, but now he doesn’t remain unchallenged. his fights have upgraded from schoolyard brawls to classroom spars, yet he finds combat in a controlled environment harder than he thought possible. there are many times where he wins, perhaps a little too forcefully, but there are also times where he’s met his match, not that he would ever admit to such a thing. sometimes he’s even lost, and occasionally, just occasionally, his opponent is from one of the grades below ( a big fuck you to tanith huang ), and he realises that he isn’t the only one who wants to be the best.

but he will be the best.

he will be the best. he has to be. he will never be helpless again.

he sits in class, the ones his father demands he go to despite being miles and miles away, still in hiding after all these years with no inclination of returning home soon. rentaro prefers it that way. the less time spent with that monster, the better.

but he’s always there, and if when he can’t focus he ends up with some self-inflicted wounds ( extra training, he calls it ), that’s only for him to know.

#「♔」rentaro akiyama #「♔」rentaro akiyama | isms #「♔」rentaro akiyama | para #「♔」para #「♔」worldbuilding #abuse tw #violence tw #death tw

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